


Sweet Stormy Days

by xathira



Category: My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic
Genre: Bodyguard, F/F, More Unicorn Girlfriend Fluff, Oneshot, Princess - Freeform, This ship is too cute help
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-08
Updated: 2019-03-10
Packaged: 2019-04-20 06:39:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 11,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14255142
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/xathira/pseuds/xathira
Summary: A non-chronological continuation of Bellus Basium.As Princess Twilight Sparkle's official bodyguard, Tempest expected things to be simple.  She protects the princess to show her thanks for the friendship extended to her, end of story.  No drama to speak of, no danger to harm the alicorn (if she has any say in it), and no silly rumors.  Right?  Right.  It shouldn't matter that everyone looks at them as if they're hiding something, or that Twilight is possibly the cutest thing Tempest has ever seen . . .





	1. White

Tempest Shadow was used to the stiffness of armor hugging her body, the seamless overlap of metal plates and thick mesh that protected her hide and her innards. She was used to marching with the heaviness of boots on her hooves, the thud and clang they made as she marched. The Storm King’s homeland boasted blizzards the likes of which tame Equestria never saw, and though she could rely on her magic to conjure sparks of warmth, the berry-hued mare nevertheless learned the value of shivering to stay alive. “Comfort” was something extraneous to survival. Tempest had carved herself into something hard, something strong, until the thought of relaxation or indulgence grated on her nerves like steel wool on ice. Irritating. Unnecessary. 

So why did Twilight Sparkle insist on _these stupid fuzzy earmuffs?_

“It’s well below freezing outside—you don’t want frostbite, do you?” The light purple alicorn wore a positively saccharine grin as she adjusted the earmuffs from where Tempest had purposefully displaced them, ensuring that the hideous fluffy pink puffballs were balanced perfectly over each ear. Tempest felt her frown stiffening. How was she supposed to hear an enemy sneak up with sound muffled like this? On the bright side, Twilight’s incessant tirade about temperature and meteorology and wind chill was also slightly dampened . . .

“And this was a present from Rarity! She’s been working on an all new line of knits and winter-wear. And I have to say—she was right about green being your color!”

To Tempest’s horror, a shamrock-colored scarf materialized around her long neck, tied in place by a shimmer of magenta magic. She stared down at the verdant loop hanging at the base of her throat. The thing was enormous; it could easily be worn as a shawl, or a poncho, which was probably the fashion-obsessed unicorn’s intent. In another moment, Twilight had tied a nearly identical scarf—this one the shade of dandelions—around her own neck. The princess looked happy enough to burst.

“Princess,” Tempest bit out tightly between clenched teeth. “All of this is unnecessary. I have my own coat to wear if you insist, but as your guard—”

“As my friend, I want you to not turn into an icicle.” Twilight’s face wore that kindly, stern expression Tempest knew not to argue with: knitted brows and a small, gentle smile, insisting that _everything was okay._ And that any further arguments would be crushed like a snowball under her hoof. If the former commander dared assert herself as the unfeeling weapon she was, Twilight would assault her with empathetic questions and soft cajoling that Tempest had absolutely no defense against. “Besides, we’re sort of twinsies! Isn’t that fun?”

Tempest’s turquoise eyes flickered up to the powder blue earmuffs covering Twilight’s ears. With the exception of color, they _were_ wearing the same outfit. Warmth crawled over Tempest’s cheeks. “If you say so, Princess.”

If the broken-horn mare had seen the smug look Spike gave them from across the room, she would have lit a firecracker under his tail.

“Have fun in town, you two,” the dragon called brightly from his seat, waving a quill in the air. “I’ll make sure to have all the invitations ready by the time you come back, so don’t rush.”

“See you later, Spike!” Twilight Sparkle had a definite bounce in her trot as she walked down the frosted castle steps—blind to the nearly paralyzing discomfort her tacit bodyguard struggled with behind her. _Don’t take off the earmuffs . . . don’t mess with the scarf . . . don’t stare at the princess’s cute—_

“—But, I think it would be best if we stopped by Sugar Cube Corner first. Pinkie Pie is a master baker, but she’s only one person.” 

Oh, sweet Celestia—Twilight had been yammering about plans for the banquet, and Tempest wasn’t even paying attention! She cleared her throat, focusing her gaze down at the fine dusting of snow sprinkled like sugar over the path. Thank goodness for the bitter wind; without it, Tempest would have nothing to cool down the raging fires of embarrassment. “If that’s what you think, Princess.” _Breathe, idiot. What’s gotten into you? Estrus?!_ “Perhaps we should ask about party supplies as well? I understand the castle has plenty of dishes and silverware, but I know you wanted to involve as many small businesses in the celebration as possible . . .”

The lilac alicorn rewarded Tempest by beaming so brightly she practically _sparkled._ “That’s a GREAT idea! There’s actually an adorable ceramics shop not too far from the bakery—I bet they’d love to have some of their pieces used and displayed!” 

The pair spent the better part of the afternoon wandering around Ponyville, checking on orders, catching up with Twilight’s friends (it was hard to think of them as “subjects,” despite her status), and discussing Hearth’s Warming plans. Tempest had followed Twilight long enough now that few ponies gawked when they saw her . . . yet she wasn’t sure she appreciated the way most of them looked at her _now._ As if they knew some secret she didn’t. Asking questions about how she and Twilight were getting along, if it were difficult to guard a princess, if she were excited about spending Hearth’s Warming in the castle . . . and more. Things that Tempest didn’t quite catch, but that had Twilight giggling awkwardly or else tilting her head with oblivious innocence. Comments that Tempest was _sure_ meant to be teasing, but were said with such casual openness she had nothing to get angry about. _Did the princess pick out those earmuffs for you two? Those scarves are so nice—they almost match! What a lovely pair!_

And the remarks made by Twilight’s _friends?_ Once the sun started to set, Tempest had no clue why Twilight had been so worried about sub-zero temperatures. She felt as if she were burning alive.

As they traveled back to the castle, Tempest kept stealing glances at her charge to see if Twilight felt even a tenth as self-conscious as she did. Had . . . had she _seriously_ not caught onto to any of the insinuations these presumptuous citizens were making?

“Ah—it’s finally snowing.”

Twilight Sparkle paused mid-step, face tilted upward to watch the flutter of snowflakes spiraling down from the pallid grey clouds. Tempest observed the scene emotionlessly (what was so special about frigid winter weather?) until she made the mistake of seeing Twilight stick her tongue out to catch ice crystals. The straight-maned pony looked like a little girl . . . muzzle rosy from the cold, bundled up in springtime hues, enjoying something as simple and pointless as frozen water. Standing perfectly still, her violet eyes closed, she was unaware of the flurries collecting on her dark eyelashes. Perfect white flecks on curling strands. 

“I haven’t caught snowflakes on my tongue since I was a filly,” Tempest muttered. She hadn’t really said it for Twilight to hear, but the alicorn noticed anyway.

“We have time. Give it a try!”

Tempest swallowed. She wasn’t sure how she felt about Twilight staring at her while her tongue was lolling out . . . but they probably wouldn’t finish their walk home until the bodyguard acquiesced. Mirroring Twilight’s pose—chin tilted up, mouth parted—she waited for the first taste of ice. And imagined she was tasting the snowflakes that settled on delicate eyelashes.


	2. Bad Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Just feeling shaken from a bad dream, is all.

Twilight’s front right hoof shook as it hovered inches from Tempest Shadow’s bedroom door. The guard insisted that if she could not watch over Twilight directly from Twilight’s room, then the next best thing was to reside in the guest room immediately next door. For a little while, still unused to having her own personal bodyguard, this proximity bothered the alicorn. Growing up, she and Shining Armor had always enjoyed separate rooms. As Celestia’s prize pupil, she hadn’t a single roommate in her dorm room. Spike always slept near, obviously—he was like a little sibling, or a child—but other than that, Twilight preferred her space. She _needed_ it, to recharge when the “joys of friendship” exhausted her introverted heart. The concept of a guard in general . . .

Except Twilight Sparkle wasn’t regretting what kept Tempest close to her side at this moment. Right now, she regretted setting up a boundary between herself and Tempest in the first place. Because if she just STOPPED being so stubborn, her guard would be in a bed next to hers, and she wouldn’t have had to force herself off her own mattress and down the hall while fighting back tears and trying to control the shivers wracking her frame—

“Princess? Why are you up at this hour?” 

Even thick with the fog of sleep, Tempest’s voice still sounded like rough velvet. And that’s when Twilight broke down.

It wasn’t a _violent_ breakdown; more like an emotional crumbling, the very brittle stuff keeping Twilight together clattering away from her too fast to pick up. Her hoof still floated inches above the polished floor. Tempest Shadow had somehow sensed her presence, and nudged her door open to peer blearily down at the lilac filly with ears perked forward. As soon as she registered the tears glistening in Twilight’s tightly squinted eyes, the burgundy mare’s posture snapped into wakefulness.

“What’s wrong, Princess? What happened?” Tempest’s rapidly clearing turquoise gaze sliced down either end of the empty hallway. Her ears now swiveled left and right, listening for threats, but all she heard were the tiny whimpers Twilight made as she failed to hold back tears.

“Nothing’s wrong, I just . . . F-fizzlepop?”

At the sound of her name—her REAL name—Tempest Shadow’s rigid stance melted. If Twilight called her Fizzlepop, the merlot mare instantly recognized the signal for lowering barriers, if only temporarily. Things must be really bad. Offering the warmest smile she could manage, Fizzlepop gestured for the trembling alicorn to step across the threshold. “Come on in, Twilight.”

The lavender damsel practically tripped over her feet rushing into the sanctuary of Tempest’s bedroom. Although the older mare insisted on keeping her “quarters” clean, hints of warmth here and there ensured the place held a cozy charm. Twilight had spent hours ensuring Tempest had something to read at every moment of every day—which explained the small towers of tomes lined up along one wall. Would the guard read to her, if she asked nicely? Was it wrong of her to grasp at a reason—any reason—to hear the calming power of that steady voice?

“I must have worried you, making noise in the middle of the night.” A watery laugh dripped from Twilight’s lips. She hastily whiped away the last of her frightened tears. “It’s just . . . I had a nightmare. And it’s totally not a big deal or anything, but I had all this energy left over and I thought hey! You know who’d tell you that your dream was silly and not real? Fizzlepop Berrytwist!”

“Twilight . . .”

“It’s the strangest thing, because I can usually pull myself into a lucid state—that’s where I’m aware I’m dreaming, and I have control over what’s going on—but for some reason I couldn’t this time? And it’s not like I’ve NEVER had a nightmare or anything, but if I can’t get a hold of myself I can sometimes call out to Princess Luna, only this time I called and called, and no one answered . . .”

“Twilight. Hush.”

A chin resting on her forehead, right below her horn. Twilight swallowed, but it was more difficult than usual, because she’d apparently jammed a giant rock in her throat and the harder she tried to choke it down the more urgent her need to sob became. So she grounded herself in the firm pressure of Tempest’s—Fizzlepop’s—muzzle touching her brow, and the safe quiet of Fizzlepop’s room, and the now-familiar smell of Fizzlepop’s dark fur ( _wow she smells really good, is this the shampoo I bought for her? Nice one, Twily, a good choice—_ ).

A high-pitched noise gurgled from the alicorn’s vocal cords, crushed by the tension vibrating below her jawbone. “This is irrational,” she gasped out, breath jumping erratically in her lungs. “I ha-haven’t been this upset by a stupid dream since I was a f-foal. And I woke you up in the m-middle of the night. I’m sorry.”

More apologies readied themselves on her frantic tongue. A thousand apologies. Excuses to crawl back to her room alone. Then Fizzlepop groomed the ridge of her brow with a slow, gentle swipe of her tongue, and all coherent thought crashed to a dead halt in Twilight’s brain. The guard followed her first caress with another, and one more, careful strokes that a mother might give her foal to settle it down. To her amazement, Twilight found her heart rate gradually fluttering down to a more acceptable beat. Her diaphragm stopped lurching inside her.

Finally, the lithe lady paused her ministrations, drawing away just enough that she could look calmly into Twilight’s eyes. In the shadow of the room, those cool blue-green irises shone brighter than anything else. Twilight felt her cheeks warm as she realized she hadn’t thought to bring a lamp with her, or conjure even a simple flicker of light; intent on consoling the princess, Tempest had apparently thought a light source of secondary importance. _Thank the Sisters for that, though, because I’m pretty sure my face is bright red and I don’t really think I could explain that without sounding like a BIGGER idiot._

“Did you want to discuss your dream, or did you just need a reality check?”

No impatience. No irritation. No judgement. The taller mare waited patiently, quietly, expression solemn. Twilight inhaled deeply. Exhaled over three measured seconds. 

“J-just a reality check, I think.”

The bodyguard nodded decisively. “Very well. Sit on my bed.”

“I—wah?”

Tempest herded her toward the unassuming bed nudged up into the far corner, quilted sheets still in disarray ( _did she kick these off when she heard me? Or does she toss and turn . . . ?_ ) Too shaken to argue—and not wanting to brave the darkness of her own quarters just yet—Twilight obediently climbed onto the mattress and blinked blankly down at the pony responsible for keeping her safe. Tempest cleared her throat delicately, as if she were about to give the princess news in the throne room rather than calm her down in the privacy of a bedroom.

“Your dream was not real. The emotions you feel are echoes of chemicals released during your sleep. Whatever frightened you was all in your head—and we know how your head is your own worst enemy.” Did Fizzlepop smirk? The quirk of her lip slipped by too fast to tell. “I am real. The bed you are sitting on is real. Lay down.” Twilight hesitated, awkwardness eating away at her previous panic. “Lay. Down. _There._ Describe the covers.”

“They’re, um . . . smooth? And warm?” _They’re warm because she was sleeping here, and they smell like her, wow, okay, obviously over the nightmare now!_ “I’m feeling much better. Thank you. Honestly, I don’t even know what I was dreaming about before . . .”

She rolled to place her hooves back on the floor. Tempest stopped her with a hard nudge to her side, making her squeak. “I don’t think so, Princess. You’re sleeping here for the remainder of the night, where I can keep an eye on you.”

Why was it still so dark in here? Twilight’s face felt like it was _glowing._

“You know, that probably isn’t necessary . . .”

“As your guard, I insist. Tomorrow you may return to your quarters.” Tempest all but shoved Twilight toward the opposite end of the bed, veritably trapping the light purple alicorn between herself and the stone wall. Then, using her teeth, the red-maned unicorn pulled the sheets over them both, and promptly drifted back to sleep. 

Twilight lay on her side, facing the back of Tempest’s head. She drew her limbs as close to her body as she could, not wanting to accidentally disturb her bodyguard. “G-goodnight . . .” A thin murmur. Tempest snored lightly in response. The lavender filly sighed. _It’s fine, just for tonight._ A magenta glow lit the edges of the duvet, tucking its ends in more securely around both mares’ bodies. _I can’t possibly have any more bad dreams tonight._

_. . . I’d have to fall asleep, first._


	3. Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Applejack calls Tempest out on her nonsense. Because Honesty.

“Miss Shadow! Ah could use a hoof over here.”

Tempest shook her head to fling beads of sweat away from her brow, ears tipping toward the source of the voice. _Applejack. Element of Honesty._ “Yes? What do you need?”

The orange mare that trotted up to her gleamed with exertion herself, blonde hairs frizzing out from her mane and tail. Like her family and the other earth ponies responsible for physically clearing away winter, she sported various smudges of dirt. “There’s a dead tree blockin’ a stream up ahead. Figured you and Ah could take care of it while the others keep plantin’ seeds.”

“Of course.” 

They weren’t “besties,” yet Tempest felt perfectly at ease falling into step next to the Apple family mare. Applejack was one of the few ponies who didn’t seethe with the need to fill dead air with idle chatter—which Tempest massively appreciated. Their hooves struck a firm beat on the still-hard soil as they walked, pausing only to nod hello at other hardworking citizens. This year’s Winter Wrap-up was probably the most organized event Ponyville had ever seen; with Princess Twilight spearheading new logistics, most grueling tasks had already been completed. And it wasn’t even _noon._ Conversations had already turned toward what celebrations would take place that evening, since everyone expected to finish well before sunset. Tempest had rolled her eyes along with Spike when Twilight revealed her ambitious plot weeks before, but she had to admit, the Princess certainly had a talent for these things . . .

“. . . So has it been hard? You two’re stuck like glue most days.”

“I’m sorry?” The bodyguard blinked, ripping herself back to the present. Applejack was prodding a huge, toppled trunk sunk into the mud across the riverbank but her green eyes were watching Tempest intently. _Knowingly._ Damn, was Tempest _sick_ of that look! She felt her lips tightening into a sneer. Applejack only chuckled, tossing over a wink.

“Ah was _just_ askin’ to see if you missed Twilight. Since you’re helpin’ little old me with fieldwork while she runs her projects.”

Tempest pretended to be very invested in the exact position of the log and how it related to the river. Its broken branches stuck out every which way, anchoring it securely in place while cold snowmelt struggled to trickle underneath it. Wordlessly, she marched to the opposite bank, hooves stepping high over slush and chipped ice. Then she placed her forehooves on the tangle of gnarled roots jutting into the ivory sky, testing the structure’s tenacity with a hearty push. Nothing. 

“Why would I miss her? We’re both in Ponyville. I think we need to nudge it to the right—there’s a weak branch on that side.”

Applejack dutifully kicked the trunk with a sturdy hind leg. The whole thing jolted sideways as if she’d done nothing more than scoot a twig. Water rushed past with slightly more freedom than before. “That helped a little . . . but now its other branches are dug further in the muck. Didn’t you want to help her out in town?”

“Hmm . . . put weight on that limb there. Hold it down while I kick this—there.” The creamsicle mare’s legendary strength pushed a branch thicker than Tempest’s torso to the breaking point; Tempest tried not to think about how effortlessly that strength could snap _her_ bones if the Element of Honesty ever decided she needed a good beating. “Twilight can handle things on her own. I’m not a pegasus, and my magic is more suited for destruction, so working with the earth ponies made the most logical sense.”

“Logic, huh.” Applejack snorted. Tempest glanced up sharply, turquoise eyes suspicious. “You should know somethin’ about my Element. It makes it hard for ponies to lie to me.”

Applejack stomped down hard on one branch. With a yelp, Tempest dodged the entire lower half of the tree as it jackknifed toward the heavens, tipped up like a foal’s seesaw. Just as the gigantic obstacle thudded back down in place, Applejack jumped toward the trunk’s middle—legs tucked toward her body—before slamming all four feet into the bark. A violent splintering noise crackled over Tempest’s flattened ears. She observed in mute amazement as Applejack’s blow _shattered the tree into chunks,_ which then plopped into the now freely running river—no longer blocked. The Element of Honesty landed next to Tempest and used her messy tail to dust off bits of twig and dust, peeking smugly at Tempest from under the brim of her battered hat.

“You never needed my help,” Tempest sputtered. Except as much as she wanted to be upset, the sheer magnitude of power she’d just witnessed awed her to the core. “What was the point of this, then?”

“The point? Ah wanted to have a chat with you. It’s your own fault for makin’ yourself so gosh-dang unavailable. Would you have agreed to talk with me, if there wasn’t somethin’ we had to do?” The orange mare quickly held up a forehoof. “Don’t answer, Ah already know what you’ll say. I _always_ know what you’ll say. Let’s get movin,’ shall we?”

Cowed, Tempest allowed Applejack to herd her away from the river. Her heart, still thumping from witnessing Applejack’s annihilation of that fallen log, squeezed when her companion grunted expectantly.

“Your problem,” Applejack began patiently, “is that you’re not bein’ honest. Not with me, not with _any_ of us. And especially not yourself.”

“I don’t know what you mean. You asked if I missed Twilight, and I gave you an appropriate answer.”

“Naw. You gave me the same distant runaround you always do. Ah’m not tryin’ to make fun of you or nothin’ sugar cube. It’s been long enough since . . . well . . .” They both got quiet. When Applejack spoke next, she’d lowered her voice to a murmur. “We were all thankful you were there to help Twilight out. We can all tell there’s somethin’ _different_ with you two, somethin’ wonderful. What none of us can figure out is why you’d work so hard to keep a wall up around you.”

A new tightness twinged in Tempest’s chest. Not entirely unpleasant. “It’s hard to come to terms with . . . having friends. I’ve not needed to navigate such complex relationships for years. Admittedly, one reason I enjoy guarding Twilight is _because_ of the boundaries. I’m her bodyguard—I am meant to protect her.” Why was she talking so much? Was this the magic of the Element at play?! She bit the inner walls of one cheek, embarrassed, though Applejack clearly had no intention of teasing her.

“Ya know, Miss Shadow . . . _friends_ take care of each other. They protect each other. It’s fine to do yer job—you’re darn good at it—but it’s _okay_ to be a friend to us. A friend to Twilight.” Finally Applejack _did_ grin, bumping Tempest with her shoulder. “Or, maybe, _more_ than a friend.”

Sparks danced on the tip of Tempest’s broken horn. She stared straight ahead, silently fuming, but Applejack sobered and offered a more genuine smile. “Ah’ll let you take your time navigatin’ these ‘complex relationships’ all you want. We all will. But if you think that means Ah’m gonna let you clam up and dig a divide between us and you for no reason, you’ve got another thing comin’.” All this time, Applejack had been steering them toward the bustling center of town. Tempest could see Twilight hovering high above everyone, enthusiastically checking off a list longer than her wingspan. Did Applejack’s weird Element magic tell her how fast her heart was beating? How warm her face felt?

“Be more honest with yourself,” Applejack ordered, halting just beyond the town square. “That’s mah friendship lesson for ya today. And if ya don’t learn it, and Ah find out that’s makin’ Twilight sad . . .” She crossed one foreleg over the other and leaned into a relaxed slouch, freckled cheeks stretched in a brilliant beam. “Ah’ll break ya like Ah broke that tree.”

Tempest nodded robotically. “Noted.”

“Tempest, Applejack! Are you two done planting already?!” A lilac bundle of pure energy soared down to land in front of them. She had that fierce, feverish light in her amethyst eyes—riding an organizational high with success like ecstasy in her veins. 

“Actually, Twilight, Ah’ve got a few more things to tend to. But Miss Shadow could use another job if you’ve got one.” Tempest didn’t even have a moment to protest. With a tip of her hat, Applejack cantered off, leaving behind a flustered bodyguard and a wildly oblivious princess. A princess who’d apparently forgotten the meaning of “personal space,” because she threw her arms around Tempest’s neck in a strangling hug as she sang the praises of the “efficient, competent townsfolk.” Approximately a minute into oxygen loss, Tempest inhaled and asked how her charge was fairing.

“Oh, excellent! We’re THREE HOURS and FOURTEEN MINUTES ahead of schedule! Of course, I’d planned for the weather-clearing to take a little longer, and I formed a contingency plan in case we had any issues with the animals, but if we continue this pace we’ll finish WAY BEFORE it gets dark. Isn’t that great?! And now that you’re here, you can help me with delegating jobs for those who completed their tasks early! Gah, this is so great, I missed you—”

Twilight squeaked and abruptly released Tempest, giggling and bopping her forehead with a hoof. “Oops, doy, not like I _missed you_ missed you, you’ve been in Ponyville this whole time, what I MEANT to say was—”

“No, it’s fine.” Tempest subtly slid her gaze over her shoulder. Looking for the green glare of an orange pony. Relieved, she dipped her head at the Princess, one corner of her lips curved upright. 

“I suppose I missed you too.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so I didn't mean this chapter to be as long as it was, but I'm flying by the seat of my pants here. What incident do you think Applejack was referring to?


	4. Simple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempest shouldn't be able to do that.

Today, thanks to her proactive approach to literally everything, Twilight Sparkle had nothing to do. No lists to cross off. No crowds waiting to meet her, or emergencies blinking on the map, or lessons to administer to Starlight.

A total lack of things on her schedule threatened to plunge the alicorn into an itching frenzy of panic. She didn’t do “nothing.” Her brain was wired to read, study, explore, discover, organize, plan. There were ALWAYS chores to finish! There had to be SOMETHING to occupy these deceptively relaxed hours! The very _thought_ of wasting a beautiful day like this on sheer laziness made her vaguely sick . . . although the Princess of Friendship hid it well, smiling absently as a spring breeze stirred her blunt pink-streaked forelock.

“You know, it feels strange—being _too_ efficient.” Magenta magic squeezed her teacup as Twilight took a thoughtful sip, watching Tempest from over the porcelain rim. “I’ve already completed every task I had slated for this week . . .”

Tempest Shadow coolly drank her own tea, holding her charge’s gaze. The morning paper lay neatly folded by her plate. They were all seated at the small outside table Twilight often used to eat meals, as the round table in the throne room felt too wide and impersonal. Out here, they could munch oatmeal pancakes or crunch cucumber salads in the balmy fresh air . . . air that had gone oddly cold. Just like the bodyguard’s piercing turquoise eyes. “Good. So you can take a break.”

A heavy beat. “A break?” Twilight echoed the word as if testing the lilt of a foreign tongue. She tilted her head, almost birdlike, while Spike made desperate _SHUT UP!_ hand gestures to Tempest behind the princess’s back. A suspiciously unstable giggle bubbled from the alicorn’s throat. “I don’t need a ‘break.’ Surely there’s a few loose ends I could tie up.” 

Her guard narrowed her stare—tea forgotten. She didn’t acknowledge the dragon waving her down whatsoever; all her awareness focused upon Twilight. One forehoof firmly patted the table top between each of her clipped syllables. “You. Need. A break.”

Unseen by the princess, Spike slapped his own forehead in defeat. Slitted lime green eyes watched anxiously as the two mares stared at each other unblinking from across their breakfast, a silent battle of wills building a tension that coiled and crackled between them. Tempest’s ears flattened against her skull. Twilight’s lavender feathers rustled near her shoulders. Tempest wore a hard, serious mask that dared to be defied. Twilight’s right eye twitched once while she smiled, as if not quite believing what Tempest had just uttered. Birdsong sounded too sharp and cheerful against this new aggressive silence. A slight breeze scattered napkins across the table. Holding his breath, the dragon counted silently in his head: three, two, one . . .

“I think I’ll just go check the map _one_ more time.”

Twilight had meant to sound offhand and casual—except Tempest had spent _far_ too much time with the alicorn not to catch the suspicious squeak of the word “one.” 

Grinning too widely Twilight scooted away from the table and made to dash back into the castle. Tempest effortlessly blocked her, still standing much taller than the other mare. She raised an elegant brow, disbelieving humor overtaking her features. “I wasn’t asking if you _should_ or _should not_ take a break, Princess. I _told_ you that you _need_ one.” A jerk of her chin, and the guard cracked her neck ominously. “Bodyguard knows best.”

Frazzled pastel feathers made Twilight’s wings look nearly twice their size. Her jaw dropped, aghast. “I—you—you’re _not_ my mother, Tempest Shadow.” The minutely mad gleam in her eyes flashed. “Which means I won’t get spanked if I do _this._ ”

“This” turned out to be a burst of magic—which engulfed Twilight in a teleportation sphere. The alicorn winked out of existence before Tempest could yell “STOP!” At the table, Spike could only sigh. When Tempest’s incredulous glance speared his way, he tossed his claws up in a helpless “what can you do?” gesture. “I tried to tell you. Twilight’s version of ‘relax’ is study—WAIT, SINCE WHEN CAN—”

That’s all Tempest heard of the dragon’s cry, because in the following heartbeat, she too had teleported in a _zap_ of blinding teal light—to Twilight’s exact location in the throne room. 

The alicorn made a startled “eep!” noise, almost falling off her ornate chair. Tempest smirked down at her from where she stood in the middle of the vast magical map, her hooves lost in holographic bits of the Everfree Forest. “Since when can you do that?” Twilight demanded, sputtering, trying to sidle away but finding herself trapped against her throne’s high back. “I thought when you tried non-destructive spells your power got all sparky and out-of-control and—”

“Will you come outside and join Spike and I for a relaxing morning breakfast?” Tempest asked haughtily, “or am I going to drag you back kicking and screaming?”

“I’m FINE.” Twilight’s stubborn declaration rang under the high ceiling—as did the _pop_ of her magic when she teleported again.

She reappeared in her library, in the nook on the top floor hidden by a half-bookshelf. She grinned manically to herself, heart thumping rapidly, ridiculously satisfied with her getaway. Tempest didn’t understand; Twilight was happiest when she was _doing_ something. She’d learned to calm down since the “Lesson Zero” fiasco—it’s not like she started wars to keep herself entertained—yet that ambitious, restless aspect of her nature remained. She wasn’t Rainbow Dash. She could chill, _sometimes,_ but her princess responsibilities had grown more complicated over the years, and she just wanted to make _extra_ sure that she hadn’t missed something, and—holy Celestia, had Tempest just teleported AGAIN?!

“Is this where you vanish to when that one reporter comes knocking? There has to be a less . . . dusty place to hide.” Tempest had appeared upon the chaise Twilight enjoyed for lengthy reading sessions. She tapped one forehoof on her bottom lip in thought, pretending to study the many piles of books the princess had organized around the nook.

Twilight stared. “Why,” she huffed through clenched teeth, “is it so imperative to you that I ‘take a break’?”

Tempest stared back. “Why is it so imperative that you _don’t?_ ”

When Twilight went silent, shuffling her wings and glancing away, her bodyguard slipped from the chaise and crept closer. The alicorn thought deeper than anypony Tempest had ever met; Twilight dove into her thoughts the way some adventurers dove into ocean trenches for treasure—one could actually watch the young mare sift through ideas like an archaeologist digging around bones. The turquoise-eyed warrior knew enough of her charge’s habits to predict certain moves Twilight would make . . . but the things that the princess said after these mental sessions always surprised her.

“We’re linked.”

Two clear words that sounded too loud in the muted atmosphere of the library. Tempest’s interested expression dropped into something neutral—and Twilight knew she was right. “If I’m wrong, teleport back to that chair.”

Tempest looked away this time. “I . . . cannot.”

“Because you’re already in the same place as me.” Twilight placed a forehoof lightly on Tempest’s cheek and turned the taller mare back to face her. She couldn’t read the emotions in her bodyguard’s gemstone irises. “If I teleport, you can follow me, right? But you can’t go wherever you want.” No answer: which was answer enough. Twilight had felt anxious at the breakfast table, fizzing with too much energy; presently, in the dusty sanctuary of her books, that energy chilled and congealed to sit heavy in her stomach. The place her thoughts had taken her plunged deep, deep down. “So you can copy _that_ spell, when I cast it. Any others?”

Tempest twitched against her hoof, as if she wanted to move away. “All of them, Princess. When you cast them.” The bodyguard used her own foreleg to gently move Twilight’s hoof from her cheek. “If you cast them.”

The slurry of dread crystallized into ice. Twilight’s knees buckled. The plum-toned soldier caught her, of course. And this time, the princess did not attempt to escape in a burst of light. They stood that way for a moment, while Twilight gathered herself . . . though the interrogation Tempest expected never arrived. Instead, the alicorn cleared her throat, ears drooping backward. “I . . . think I could use that break, now.” When Tempest prepared to answer, the lilac filly pulled away. “Alone, please. If that’s all right. Promise I won’t attempt to rush in some work.”

Tempest’s voice sounded hollow even to herself. “Of course. Whatever you need, Princess.”

They avoided one another for the rest of the day. When they finally met again for dinner, goaded by a still confused and lonely Spike, Twilight couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact with her guard. The reality of their mysterious “link” lingered at the back of her skull, refusing to lie down. She had every resource necessary to research all the possible ways she and Tempest could be connected—how their spells could reflect one another, or at least how Tempest’s spells could mimic alicorn magic—but nausea rose in her stomach. Funny how a meaningless argument over something as petty as relaxation had unearthed such a disturbing truth.

And funny how something as simple as a day off had abruptly made her life more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so this started out going one direction . . . and then I didn't like it, so I left it alone for a few weeks. And when I came back to it, it mutated into something else.
> 
> I'll still happily take requests if people have them :) Otherwise you're doomed to follow me into the land of "I don't know where this is going and there are probably more secrets ahead"


	5. Prepare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twilight doesn't know the whole story yet. But that can wait for now . . .

_Linking_ sounded innocuous, even romantic when one had no knowledge of what it meant in magical terms. After all, when two ponies were close to one another, didn’t they describe their relationship as a “link” between them? How could a close connection inspire dread instead of comfort? Hadn’t Tempest and Twilight been teased in the past for being “chained” at the hip?

Twilight shivered as she turned another page, the tome resting on her nightstand holding considerably darker text than she usually perused. _Subduing the Moon: A History of Final Measures_ described actions taken since the birth of magical creatures to contain dangerous power. The authors dedicated multiple chapters to unicorns in specific—for although ponies were peace-loving creatures in general, the horned variety had always been silently considered the most dangerous. An earth pony could be incarcerated if they broke a law. Pegasi could be caged or have their flight feathers clipped until the end of their sentence. Of all the punishments Twilight had poured over in the last few days—of all the imprisonment techniques and rehabilitation practices—linking proved by far one of the more humane and relatively lenient options for unicorns. 

She'd known before her studies that linking literally tied the magic of two unicorns together, usually in one direction: parolee to parole officer. The link allowed the unicorn acting as warden to find their charge wherever they wandered, and to be aware of every spell their charge cast as soon as they cast it. If necessary, the warden could also _replicate_ that spell. What Twilight hadn’t realized was that the link required an immense degree of magical energy . . . one unicorn could not simply decide to link with another on a whim. A council needed to be present to cast the spell, their number depending upon the strength of the criminal in question. In this case, _Twilight_ was the criminal. An alicorn—freshly born with wings hardly better than a baby bird’s but an _alicorn_ nonetheless. The size of a council needed to tie her energy to Tempest . . . what could she have done to make so many unicorns participate in her binding? If a council had been involved at all . . .

Celestia and Luna might have linked her to Tempest themselves. 

Spots dancing before her eyes and a creeping dizziness told Twilight she was breathing too quickly. With a harsh _clap_ , the pages of _Subduing the Moon_ slammed shut, sending small particles of dust shimmering into the air. Even if it allowed more freedom than the other harsh punishments for unicorns, linking still meant that Twilight had done something _wrong_ —something that justified the violation of her privacy and the very core of her powers. And no one had told her about it.

Twilight struggled to time her inhales and exhales. She pushed away from her desk, tail slashing the air as though chasing away the bite of flies. _Nobody had said a word._ Everyone let her trot along, ignorant, as if everything were fine, when in fact she’d been wearing a shackle she wasn’t even aware of. Who knew? Luna and Celestia? A crowd of nameless unicorns? Her friends? 

“Twilight?”

The violet princess halted in place, purple eyes darting up to see Spike peering up at her with a mixture of concern and caution. His little claws were hovering inches in front of her muzzle; he must have been trying to get her attention for a minute before she snapped out of her thoughts. Her feathers rustled. _Had Spike known too?_

“Starlight and Trixie already headed out. Rarity said she’d come early to help you with your gown, and the others should be here in the next half hour.” The dragon knew Twilight would have completely forgotten the preparations for the Gala during her intensive study session . . . and Twilight had been less than “present” after Tempest so thoughtlessly revealed their link. “Are you feeling okay, Twilight?”

The Princess of Friendship thought about being honest. She wanted to bundle her ward up in a hug and spill everything on her mind. Instead her manic smile glittered at him with the intensity of the sun and she mercilessly wrestled her anxiety into silence. “Yep! Just . . . pre-Gala jitters. Same as last year. It’s still weird going as a princess, you know? Anyway, better start laying everything out for Rarity, you know how she loves seeing all the options for ensembles and whatnot—hey would you mind making sure everyone gathers in the hall before we go so we can check over invitations thanks so much Spike you’re the best _love you!_ ”

She magically shoved Spike out the door, cheerfully speaking over his protests with increasingly louder dialog. Right as he filled his lungs to shout, Twilight swung the door shut in his face. She felt the slam in her chest. _No. Do NOT feel guilty. You just need time to think. You’ve got a ball to attend. Can’t show up all frazzled and paranoid right?!_ Foolishly, Twilight caught a glance of herself in the mirror. The grin plastered on her face was nothing short of terrifying. _Why did I choose NOW to read that book . . . why, why, why—_

The sound of the knob turning had Twilight whirling back to the door. “Spike, I just need a minute—” 

“We both know that Rarity is bringing an entire wardrobe with her. Accessories included.” Tempest Shadow poked her head over the threshold, one long foreleg already in the room. As Twilight stared at her mutely she strode the rest of her way in. “So why are you _really_ hiding in here, princess?” 

Unlike the rest of Twilight’s friends, Tempest has refused to wear a gown to the Gala; however, even the fearsome bodyguard could not withstand the sheer might of Rarity’s generosity. The fashion-obsessed unicorn had created a feminine tuxedo perfectly tailored to Tempest’s lean frame in an onyx dupioni silk that shimmered cobalt in some angles. Articulated silver gauntlets inlaid with sapphires armored all four of the warrior mare’s limbs. Gleaming pauldrons protected both shoulders. An elegant helmet covered her cheekbones in silver crescents. Every nasty, angry, hurt word boiling in Twilight’s throat abruptly fizzled away and she was left gaping like an absolute idiot.

“You look . . . you’re . . .”

Tempest smirked slightly. “Mhmm.”

Annnnd the anger came rushing back. So what that her bodyguard looked more incredible than a royal guard in full regalia. Who cared that her suit looked painted on. _Shut up brain. Stay mad. You’re MAD right now._ “We both know I can’t _hide_ from you, so why are you _really_ acting like everything is all right?” Twilight took some bitter satisfaction in seeing the smirk vanish from Tempest’s face; sadly, the appropriately chagrined expression that replaced it made the princess’s stomach twist. What right did Tempest have to make Twilight feel guilty for guilt-tripping her?! “I’m trying _really_ hard to act normal for this event, and I don’t need you teasing me.”

The lavender alicorn tried to shoulder past Tempest, but the taller mare gently blocked her by crossing one forelimb in her path. “I’m sorry.”

Twilight’s hackles and feathers went up, her throat closing shut. She expected her bodyguard to chastise her for acting like a filly, to tell her to get over it, that she was blowing things out of proportion, but when she searched Tempest’s teal windows all she saw was genuine regret. As if worried the princess would bolt in the next second, Tempest tried to get her next words out as quickly as possible.

“You probably feel betrayed. Lied to. It’s understandable. But I promise you, as your friend, that I will tell you as much as I can after the Gala tonight.”

Twilight dare not speak. She tried to focus on the light jumping from the faceted sapphires decorating Tempest’s helmet. The fact that her bodyguard was not swerving away from the presence of their link or deliberately distracting her to more pleasant things meant that the grave situation Twilight feared was _real._ She didn’t want to extrapolate without all the evidence—not when she truly had no idea how deep this all went—yet her heart beat faster all the same. Tempest was acknowledging her anxieties. That scared her . . . and, inexplicably, an iron-hard mass of tension inside of her eased just a bit. Because if Tempest were being honest, that meant she wasn’t about to let Twilight suffer alone in her uncertainty.

“As soon as we get back to home,” Twilight finally whispered. An order, not a question.

Tempest nodded, pulling her leg back so the princess could leave, if she wished. “As soon as we get back home, no matter how tired we are, I will do my best to answer your questions. But until then . . .”

Suddenly they were nose-to-nose, close enough that if Tempest still had a one their horns would be clicking together. “You are to have fun at the Gala. And know that all of your friends love you.”

Approaching sounds of rustling fabric and jingling jewelry made Tempest back away first, flustered at her own display of affection. The crescents curved over either side of her face could not completely hide the warmth in her complexion as she backed out of Twilight’s chambers to make room for Rarity and a rather massive wardrobe on wheels, complete with long mirrors and twinkling lights. In a matter of seconds, the whole space had been flooded with yards of confection-colored fabric, enough gemstones to feed an entire dragon horde, and one white unicorn’s enthusiastic chatter. In the forty-five minutes it took the other girls to arrive, Rarity transformed Twilight into something so extraordinary the princess had to catch her breath when she noticed her reflection.

Rarity paraded the princess out to the others, only tripping over the long silken train of her own dress once. “Voilà! This is my finest piece yet—if I do say so myself. Actually, I’m rather proud of how _all_ the gowns turned out, I was inspired by spring blossoms . . .”

The rest of the white unicorn’s words faded into the background. In the great hall, Twilight’s closest friends waited for her—each of them as pretty as monarchs in their own right. But it was the way Tempest’s stoic mask dropped along with her jaw, the dazed brightness of her eyes that momentarily erased her heavy blame, that had the alicorn lifting her chin a little higher to better display the diamonds dripping like ice from her neck. At Rarity’s behest, Twilight turned in a little circle so that the weightless ballet pink layers drifting from her hips fanned outward into separate petals. Pinkie Pie audibly gasped. Apple Jack’s low whistle complimented Rainbow Dash’s squeal of “awesome!” 

And when Tempest failed three separate time to form words, Twilight gave her bodyguard her best royal curtsy and smiled. “ _Mhmm._ ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry, did you think I was done with unicorn girlfriends? Oh heavens no.  
> Eventually I'll write more cute things and less about the mysterious secret that wasn't originally supposed to be part of these one-shots c:


	6. Hum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Twilight likes when Tempest plays with her hair.

Even before she’d joined an army, Tempest Shadow preferred her magenta mane close-cropped. Less maintenance. Besides, when they’d first reconnected after so much time apart, Twilight Sparkle had complimented the clean swept crest-shape—so why would Tempest change it? Not that Twilight’s opinion had _much_ to do with the bodyguard’s style choices . . . it’s just that, if the princess liked her mane, there was clearly nothing wrong with it. It’s not as if a small part of Tempest preened a little when the alicorn’s hoof playfully petted back her stiff tresses to watch them spring back upright, or anything. Not like that frisky “looking sharp, _soldier_ ” influenced Tempest in the slightest. Nope. She wasn’t a high-school _filly,_ for Celestia’s sake.

Twilight seemed to have the same mind about hair care when it came to style. For most of the time Tempest had known the princess, she sported the same blunt bangs and straight-across lines on both mane and tail. The only moments the bodyguard had seen her charge do something different was for the occasional special event: usually an elegant updo, courtesy of Rarity’s talent. But lately the lilac damsel had allowed her mane and tail to grow out well beyond where she normally cut it. Her tassel pooled easily to the floor, trailing violet and bright pink in her wake; her mane swooped from her nape and fell as a dark waterfall mid-foreleg; her fringe was no longer a _fringe,_ but a long forelock begging for Tempest to sweep it aside so she could see Twilight’s eyes better (despite the princess’s giggling protests). All that extra hair meant extra work. Work Tempest was all too eager to—er, _neutral to_ , assist with. 

“Did Applejack teach you this braid?” 

They were seated in front of Twilight’s vanity—if one could call a piece of furniture so unassuming and plain a “vanity.” The princess sat on the cushioned seat while Tempest positioned herself behind, scanning her handiwork with a critical eye: a single thick coil that started at Twilight’s ears. “I know how to braid,” the bodyguard huffed, examining the strands of lighter amethyst peeking out from their forest of plum. “It isn’t that difficult.”

“Did you have to braid a lot of rope as a soldier?”

“Wha— _no._ ”

“Chains, then?”

“ _No._ I learned to braid _hair._ Like any other filly!”

Twilight hid her giggle poorly, her eyes meeting Tempest’s in the mirror. Tempest quickly pretended to find a flaw in the flawless braid, because that teasing grin was so precious it made her _furious._ “Unsalvageable. I’ll have to start over.” 

“Noo! It was cute!” But the pastel alicorn’s protests were halfhearted at best, and Tempest knew why. Starting over meant combing out all those looping twists one by one, and then brushing Twilight’s locks back into silken perfection. Tempest Shadow had recently discovered something rather interesting about the lady she watched over: Twilight liked when someone brushed her hair. Actually, it wasn’t just the brushing that made her melt . . . it was Tempest touching her tresses in general. As soon as the bristles began smoothing down her mane, the alicorn’s gaze went warm and content, lids falling to half mast as her upper body swayed with each careful pass. Other than a muffled squeak, she never complained when her guard had to untangle a snarl. She’d even dozed off once in the middle of Tempest weaving a herringbone into her tail. And when Twilight was _truly_ relaxed, she tended to hum . . . a sound that lilted from innocently sweet to a downright throaty growl.

“I want to try something more complex.” Gathering Twilight’s forelock to join the braid beginning at her nape was a great excuse to brush along the softness of the princess’s face. Tempest deftly parted each strand as she worked, pulling sunset streaks to the forefront of her design. The delighted alicorn sighed dreamily . . . leaning back into her bodyguard’s chest . . . and while Tempest folded purple ribbons under and over shocking pink stripes she had to bite her tongue to keep from chuckling at the low melody Twilight started humming under her breath. 

However, when that hum deepened into a _purr,_ Tempest nearly tied a knot in the other mare’s coif. 

“How’s it coming?” asked the mauve monarch in a voice that belonged nowhere off a mattress.

“Fine.” _Don’t look at her. Don’t look at her._ Damn it. Tempest dared peek and was met with the sight of Twilight’s eyelids closed in bliss, mane streaming across her shoulders and over the arches of her folded wings, looking like the cat with all the cream. _By the Sisters, she’s enjoying this!_ “No peeping until I’m done, princess.” 

A languid shrug from Twilight, the happy hum back in her throat. She didn’t speak for a long while, not until Tempest had to tug a little roughly at her mane in order to weave it into the exact pattern she desired. The bodyguard worried she had finally reached her charge’s pain threshold when a barely audible grunt escaped Twilight’s lips.

“Harder.”

Both mares froze at Twilight’s command. Roses bloomed in the alicorn’s cheeks—which were suddenly puffed as if trying to keep anything else from blurting out. Tempest dutifully continued plaiting, although her stare had completely riveted upon the back of Twilight’s head so she wouldn’t have to see her own blush flaring back from her reflection. “What I mean is, you don’t have to be so gentle,” the princess spluttered haltingly. “You won’t hurt me. With the braiding, that is. I don’t mind if you pull my hair. When you’re braiding it.”

“Sure. Of course.”

“It looks very nice so far.”

“Good.”

“I know you told me not to peep, but it’s true.”

“Thank you, princess.”

By some miracle—although her fur felt feverish and the alicorn obviously felt similar—Tempest managed to twirl the last locks into place, securing them with a satin tie that dangled at Twilight’s lower back, between the primary feathers of her wings. Still flushed, Twilight turned her head from side to side, examining each angle of the beautiful style her guard had pulled off: a series of small, slender braids that twined into a single glossy rope the colors of an exotic orchid. A breathy murmur of appreciation was all the praise Tempest Shadow needed for her artistry. 

“I’m glad it’s to your liking.” Having finally wrestled her embarrassment back in its grave, the merlot mare stepped back to fully admire what she’d done.

“It’s more than to my ‘liking,’ Tempest, it’s _gorgeous._ If I had known you were so good at this, I would have grown my mane out forever ago!” Another pleased sigh, her front hooves clapping together like a child’s. Tempest smiled indulgently, giving a quick roll of her eyes—happy that the royalty she served was so easily enraptured by the simplest things. “In fact, um . . . if we have time . . .” Twilight spun around in her seat to fix Tempest with the biggest, most hopeful puppy-dog stare the stern bodyguard had ever witnessed. “Could you . . . do my tail, too?”

_Gods, if braiding her MANE made her make those sounds . . ._ “I would love to, princess.”


	7. Sugar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tempest makes a point to Pinkie.

_If she touches Twilight again, I’m going to kill her._

On the outside, Tempest Shadow represented the absolute essence of controlled calm. She whisked egg whites into stiff peaks at a rapid, calculated pace. Not even a smudge of flour marred the cool expression on her serious face—much less the ridiculously frilly apron that protected her chest. If anything, the maroon mare looked _bored_ , clearly preferring the pulse-pounding excitement of sparring to the domestic bliss of baking. But Twilight had wanted to visit Pinkie Pie and help her hyperactive friend finish up her holiday orders, and the bodyguard discovered she wasn’t very good at denying her charge things that didn’t place the princess in direct danger.

Things that placed her directly in Pinkie Pie’s hooves, however ...

“Those are peanut butter blossoms—you have to REEEEALLY stir that dough!” 

The bubblegum pony had placed either forehoof on Twilights waist so she could haul herself up and peer over the alicorn’s shoulders while Twilight beat the aforementioned cookie dough into submission. Sugarcube Corner boasted some pretty impressive equipment to make baking faster and more efficient; unfortunately, the sheer volume of work Pinkie Pie took on meant breaking out the good old fashioned wooden spoons while other mixers took on the rest of the confections. _That_ isn’t what annoyed Tempest to the nth degree. She personally didn’t mind breaking eggs by hoof and slashing through oceans of their innards to make macarons. What bothered her—what made her teeth grind and her hackles spike minutely under the ugly holiday sweater she’d been forced to wear—was how damn _close_ Pinkie Pie kept getting to Twilight. 

It started with touching the princess’s hoof to show her how to properly cream butter and sugar. Then it was Pinkie insisting on tying Twilight’s apron, despite the alicorn being perfectly able to do so with magic. Tempest had watched in silent rage as the candy-hued mare giggled and threw herself at Twilight in a hug, rubbing their faces together as if she were a kitten, to praise the alicorn for her dough-rolling techniques. 

Pinkie Pie had been a physically affectionate, _boisterous_ creature since Tempest had first met her—so why was all of this harmless fluff affecting her so much? Why did she seethe when Pinkie helped sweep back Twilight’s mane so it wouldn’t get sugar in it? These were all innocent gestures that the Element of Laughter showered on _all_ of her friends—including Tempest—whenever she could. This was nothing new. Nothing ... inappropriate. And still the ex-soldier found herself icily glaring at the vulnerable point in Pinkie Pie’s throat when the curly-maned lady nuzzled the back of Twilight’s ear before bouncing away to check on the oven.

“Are you enjoying yourself, Tempest?”

Twilight’s bubbly question momentarily shut down the fighter’s fantasies of shutting the oven door on Pinkie Pie’s rump. She managed a small, genuine smile for her charge. Unlike Tempest, Twilight was a _mess._ Five shades of icing and dustings of dry ingredients obscured the original color of her apron. Her mane had been mostly spared (thanks, _Pinkie_ ) but Twilight still sported smidges of powder in random spots on her light purple fur. _So adorable ... I mean—_

“Spending time with friends is enjoyable, in general.” The glowing BEAM of pride and happiness Twilight shone at her made all Tempest’s previous irrational irritation worth it. Suddenly it was fine that they were surrounded by mountainous stacks of shortbread, thumbprint, and chocolate chip. Tempest didn’t even smell the acrid burn of sugar glitter Pinkie had left on the stove for too long. “Besides,” she added, grinning wrly, “I know it’s a nice change of pace to work outside the castle ...” 

A high-pitched squeal cut her off. “Ooh, Twilight, those look AMAZING!” 

The alicorn stopped spooning out flawlessly proportioned dough balls the moment Pinkie’s forelegs suddenly flew around her neck and almost knocked her to the ground. Tempest’s blood pressure spiked once again. Turquoise eyes narrowed into deadly daggers. The whisk she’d been using snapped clean in half. _Don’t be jealous. Pinkie Pie is just being ... Pinkie Pie._ Except even when Twilight squirmed and protested awkwardly, her eyes not meeting either pony, her fluffy-haired friend continued earnestly squeezing the daylights out of her. Tempest knew that the Element of Laughter was no fool. Eccentric, energetic, sometimes _obnoxious,_ but _never_ stupid. And when Pinkie Pie’s baby-blues sparkled teasingly at her, winking, Tempest abruptly understood what was going on. The baker was trying to make Tempest jealous on purpose. _And it’s working!_

“Pinkie Pie!” Twilight struggled uselessly, _help me_ plainly written on her features. Pinkie Pie yammered on anyway, chortling like a loon, until a much taller and much stronger mare all but pried Twilight free and dragged her away. 

Tempest Shadow’s glare was pure murder as she threw a protective limb over Twilight’s shoulders, pulling her close. Any other person would have withered under that fury ... but Pinkie had to cover her mouth with a hoof to prevent an explosive giggle from setting off the irritated bodyguard, her cloud-shaped tail swinging too and fro like an excited puppy’s. Twilight’s weak murmur of “can I finish baking?” was buried by Tempest’s harsh snort.

“Princess, you’re covered in sugar. Allow me to clean you up.”

“You don’t have to shout, Tempest, I’m _right here_ —”

And that’s when Tempest’s tongue swiped directly over Twilight’s open mouth.

Of course the lavender filly’s lips immediately clapped shut as if she’d sucked a lemon, her amethyst eyes growing enormous, feathers fluffed out to make her wings twice their normal size. A blush the color of holly berries blossomed from her cheeks and spread clear up to her sky-high pointed ears. Her posture went completely rigid. Pinkie Pie’s jaw hit the floor. An egg timer _dinged_ brightly into the thick silence. Tempest licked her muzzle smugly, her gaze never leaving Pinkie’s. The unspoken message that passed between them might as well have been written in icing all over Twilight’s coat: _this one’s mine._

“Welp!” the rosé party expert trilled after a beat, “better get those sugar cookies out before they’re ash!” She hopped over to the far oven, conspicuously turning her back and pretending to closely scrutinize the delicious batch of freshly baked heaven. Tempest peered at a dumbstruck Twilight from the corner of one blue-green eye, slowly removing her foreleg from where it pushed the princess up against her side. Twilight didn’t react. Not until Tempest leaned in, her breath tickling her charge’s bright scarlet cheek.

“You still have a few smudges, princess ... shall I get those too?”

Twilight’s scandalized shriek of “NO!” was matched in volume only by Pinkie Pie’s uproarious laughter, howling and screaming loud enough to send several stacks of desserts crashing to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pinkie Pie is actually one of my favorites - she's hilarious. I absolutely believe she'd tease Tempest mercilessly and drape herself all over her best friend to make Tempest jealous.
> 
> Merry Christmas! Thank you for stopping by to read these nonsensical one-shots.


	8. Lucid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before Tempest was a bodyguard, she was a mare dreaming about her crush.

Tempest had not originally returned to Equestria to become Twilight’s bodyguard, although she _had_ wanted to see the spunky alicorn again after travelling the world. Her first dream upon leaving Canterlot featured the princess’s face suffused with kindness, telling Tempest that all was forgiven. That wounds healed and friendship could grow from ash. That someone would be waiting for the ex-soldier when she grew tired of wandering and returned to her own kind. Dream-Twilight had kissed her cheek, and Tempest woke up in her bunk on the rickety fishing boat breathing hard with tears in her eyes, clutching her chest. For a brief, sweet moment, Tempest had truly felt as if the princess were there with her; she could feel the ghost of the other mare’s breath as she drew away, smiling. _Don’t be a stranger._ Words her waking mind snatched like leaves scattered in the wind. It had been a dream, but… Tempest embraced Twilight’s words, anyway. The once warlike unicorn would allow herself to run away for a while—sharing what she’d learned at Equestria with other cultures touched by the Storm King’s darkness—and she’d come back home. To the ponies who showed her forgiveness despite her heinous betrayal. 

To Twilight.

Twilight visited Tempest’s dreams many more times during the berry-hued mare’s lone tour. The setting of their nightly meetings usually matched whatever landscape Tempest currently resided in—which made sense. Dreams were just the mind’s way of integrating new information, grabbing from experience to weave new visions. Tempest had to congratulate herself for how well her brain replicated and improvised Twilight; the dream-alicorn always had some new anecdote to share, a new artifact to gush about. Sometimes the dreamscape would change, melting into Twilight’s library. Oddly enough, although Tempest had never actually been there, the grand space kept its vast elegant layout no matter how many times she dreamed about it. But who was Tempest to question the logic of dreams? If she prodded too hard at the illusion, it might vanish at her touch—flimsy as phosphorescent bubble. 

No… it was better to simply let go and enjoy the time she had with Twilight. Even if every shared joke, every casual touch, every glance existed solely in Tempest’s imagination.

“So they brighten the colors with magic? Fascinating…” 

The pair reclined on a sea of vividly dyed pillows, each one decorated with elaborate embroidery and shiny multihued beads. Twilight was inspecting one pillow by squishing it like a giant marshmallow between her hooves; Tempest leaned next to her, closer than she’d ever dare lay in the real world. The merlot mare smiled at the princess’s childlike curiosity. It was cute how openly _excited_ the powerful alicorn became when presented with new knowledge. “The yale have been creating textiles like this for centuries. I watched some of them use their moving horns as looms to weave the fabric.”

Twilight dropped the pillow—her violet eyes enormous. “So their horns really DO move?” When Tempest nodded, clearly amused at her companion’s intensity, the princess barraged her with more questions. “How wide is their range of movement? Is it restricted to laterally—or can they shift their horns vertically? Or are their horns situated in a ball-in-socket joint with—”

“Twilight?”

“Yes?”

They could have balanced an apple between their muzzles. Twilight had crawled over several pillows to crowd Tempest and hang on her every word.

Tempest narrowed her eyes, a faint smirk tipping one side of her mouth. “This is a dream, right?”

Not moving away, Twilight’s expression froze. “Yes,” she answered softly.

“Good.”

Tempest placed a forehoof carefully under Twilight’s chin to tip her forward, their lips meeting with the gentleness of two petals touching, plush as the pillows they lay on. And because it was a dream, Tempest did not wince from her bold display of affection, did not immediately feel the backlash of shame, and Twilight didn’t recoil with disgust but rather leaned further into the kiss with a shy closed-mouth giggle. 

They could have done more. Tempest knew she wanted to. But somehow she thought that would ruin this fantasy, and she was content to enjoy her little princess in this space made just for them… 

The dream evaporated like sugar in coffee. When Tempest awoke the next day, she buried her smiling face in her mattress and settled into the residual warmth of Twilight’s lips and the sea of colorful pillows, bright butterflies stirring in her stomach. 

The affection-starved unicorn looked forward to dreaming about the lilac alicorn so much, that when a period of two weeks went by without so much as fabricating a wing-feather she started to _worry._ About _the real_ Twilight, back in Equestria, oblivious to the pining ex-commander’s anxiety. Tempest told herself she was being absurd; if she wanted to show the Princess of Friendship the ocarina she acquired from a tribe of kelpies, all she had to do was take the next airship back to Canterlot. It’s not as if all her previous interactions with Twilight had actually happened. 

But nevertheless, the military mare missed dream-Twilight. And that meant she missed _real_ Twilight even more.

Two weeks ebbed into three. Then four. An entire month without glimmering purple eyes, without sharing stories, without sharing another _kiss;_ Tempest tossed and turned at night, restless when her calls went unanswered, her thoughts dominated with dream-Twilight’s absence. When she at last thought to send a letter—or buy a ticket back to Equestria—a princess _did_ enter her dreams once more. The wrong princess.

“You’ve been dreaming with Twilight,” Princess Luna said, and it was not a question. She and Tempest floated in the center a galaxy, stars swirling past in brilliant diamond currents and mimicking the flowing waves of Luna’s glorious mane. “What did she tell you? What has been going on between you two?”

Tempest’s throat grew tight. This was a nightmare. “They were just dreams… weeks ago. I haven’t dreamed about—”

“You haven’t dreamed together in weeks?” Distress prodding through the hardness of Luna’s voice. “When was the last time—”

“Wait, dreamed _together?_ What—”

Stars flared red. Warning lights flickering in every direction like sparks from a fire. The universe surrounding them quaked, and the Princess of Night suddenly whirled around, terror in her eyes. Before Tempest could protest Luna had opened her wings as if to shield her, magic sizzling on the end of her long horn. “You really don’t know what’s been going on?” Luna cried. “You’re special to her, we thought you would know the truth. Not even her friends saw this coming.”

Crimson stars shattered into ruby glass—raining down in every direction, sharp enough to cut. Violet lightning crackled through the emptiness as if attempting to shatter whatever protection Princess Luna had forged. Tempest’s tone rose desperately. “What happened to Twilight? Is Equestria under attack?”

“We’re not sure.” Luna shuddered. “Twilight Sparkle has been corrupted.”

And as Tempest blinked in shock, floating in this impossible miasma of burning colors with whom she _knew_ was the real Princess Luna, she wondered what in the world could _possibly_ have happened to corrupt the delightful damsel who’d saved her soul and kept her company all these nights away from home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hahaha I haven't posted in forever and it shows. enjoy anyway.

**Author's Note:**

> Oops I continued it
> 
> I made the mistake of looking at a list of one-word prompts, and this fell out.


End file.
